In an extraordinary city, on an extraordinary street, in an extraordinary house, lived a very ordinary boy. The boy (Bill was his name) was so enormously ordinary, so incredibly plain, so stupendously boring that the only thing extraordinary about him was how ordinary he really was . . . given his circumstances. His father was a war hero. The stories of his exploits could hold captive a reader for days on end. But this story is not about him. His (he being Bill) mother (wife to Bill’s father) was a world renown surgeon. Her breakthroughs in medical science would be talked about in hospitals and medical journals for years to come. But not in this story. Even his (he again being Bill) dog Renfroe was extraordinary, having made new headlines after rescuing a drowning child. But this story is not about Renfroe either. In fact, with exception to very small parts where dialogue is required (or tail wagging on the part of Renfroe), none of the aforementioned fascinating and intriguing characters so far presented in this story have any significant role. This story is about Bill, the ordinary one who I was talking about earlier.
On a Wednesday morning Bill was awakened by his alarm clock, gently reminding him through a series of repeated high F sharps that it was time to get ready for school. Bill turned off his alarm clock, thanked it for waking him up and stumbled downstairs for breakfast. A note was written on a scrap of paper lying on the kitchen table which read,
“Bill, I had to leave for work on an emergency, there is cereal in the cupboard and fresh orange juice in the refrigerator. The orange juice is for drinking, put milk in the cereal. I didn’t mention the milk before because it has been there for a few days, but the orange juice I brought home last night just for you. Lovingly, Mother”.
Bill read the note and reread it just to make sure he got everything right. He got the cereal out of the cupboard, shook it into a bowl, and after consulting the note one last time, poured milk over the cereal. He filled a glass with orange juice, sat down, and had a thoroughly enjoyable breakfast.
Bill replaced the milk, orange juice, and cereal, washed his dishes, and walked out the door to go to school. After about thirty seconds of walking he turned around, went back inside the house and put on clothes. He then brushed his teeth, picked up his book bag, and made another attempt at going to school. He walked the five blocks to the schoolhouse. It was close enough and in a nice neighborhood so his parents were okay with him going by himself. They had extreme confidence in the latent extraordinariness of their son. Bill marched up the steps to the school doors, remembered it was July, turned around and walked back to the house.